


Of Atmora and Yokuda

by Sawster



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherly Love, Cultural Differences, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Implied Child Death, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sawster/pseuds/Sawster
Summary: A series of drabbles and character studies for a male Redguard Dragonborn and Miraak





	Of Atmora and Yokuda

**Author's Note:**

> This is an attempt to write something a bit more poetic yet still concise. Honestly, I've reread this thing a billion times and no matter what I edit, it still sounds pretentious. This does have a lot of TES lore, just saying to warn you.

Days long past, he had been an acolyte of Tu’whacca. Back then, performing rites for the dead in the ancient tongues of Yokuda was to be expected and he prepared himself for a life of self-reflection and duty. 

There were many types of dead after all: the old, the sick, the warriors, the scholars, the mothers, and the fathers. The high priest, a man whose glazed eyes still shined the murk of the crypts, needed help and therefore different corpses and rites were given to the lesser acolytes. One was in charge of the burial of warriors, a glorious duty in the eyes of his people, while another only dealt with old age, a sad but understandable fate. 

His duty, his burden, had been the heaviest of them all. 

These deaths were the most sudden of all. Sometimes it was a silent little thing. Small breaths in the middle of the night stilled for no reason. Accidents with no one to blame but grief and guilt lingered in the air of the family. Even the most hardened hearts wept and many a robe had been stained by soldier and maiden alike. 

It took two years for him to break. Only two years for him to simply hand over his amulet of his god and murmur a goodbye to the high priest. The old man’s eyes, still glazed but knowing, nodded and turned away. And that was that. 

_____________________________________________________________________

The life of a priest easily melded into one of a scholar and mage and he found joy in research and the arcane. Naturally, writing a book seemed like the right way to go and nothing was as vast and complex as the histories and cultures of Tamriel. 

While Yokuda was the motherland of his people, it was north in the land of frozen bearded kings where the ancestors of the Nords and Nedes lie. A perfect chapter to start his endless volumes. 

Skyrim unfortunately, only led down a road of deep disappointment. A thundering Voice bloomed from his lips and yet he frowned amongst the wonder of the Nords around him. The dragon was slain, yes, but it felt like robbery. An invasion of a culture he did not belong. This ‘thu’um’ was not the curved blade of the Ansei. It was the verbal spew of ancient words thrown together by stupid powerful beasts. It was a language yet the ‘words of power’ held no grace. It was ugly. 

________________________________________________________________________

He did his duty like before. The serpent, black as Oblivion, was gone. It had shattered into a million fragments as it screamed in its heathen tongue, maybe begging for his father to save him. He didn’t care and he casually ignored the three Tongues praising his name. The bear god, guardian of his brother’s bones, simply stared knowingly before Shouting him into the realm of mortals.


End file.
